


The Rules Of Someone Else's Game

by Freudianity



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Fluff, Getting Together, Kent Parson x Happiness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 17:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7324306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freudianity/pseuds/Freudianity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Kent Parson makes a good decision in a less-than-optimal way, Jack and Bitty invite him to weather the media storm in Providence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. IN MEDIA RES

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bittlebunny (american_homos_story)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/american_homos_story/gifts).



> Title from Defying Gravity, for another misfit of the West who flipped the bird at the System. Now someone write me Elphaba x Kent.
> 
> Alternative title: Let The Words Fall Out, from Sara Bareilles' "Brave", which is basically about this fic.

**@WowKentParson** I guess this is as good a time as any to announce that I will NOT be renewing my contract with @NHLVegasAces.

 **@WowKentParson** Want to make VERY CLEAR that this is not problems with the team, it has been incredible playing with all of you and I love all of you fucks

 **@WowKentParson** Unfortunately senior management and I disagree on one key issue, and while compromise has always been my middle name that's not an option.

 **@WowKentParson** Specifically, they have stated that they aren't willing to support me as an organisation in the event that I came out as gay.

 **@WowKentParson** In case that last tweet wasn't obvious enough, I am in fact coming out as gay. The team already knew and have been nothing but awesome.

 **@WowKentParson** I've been considering this for a long time, and reached a point where it wasn't an option to hide it any longer.

 **@WowKentParson** Yes, I am aware of the controversy this will probably kick up with angry bigots and bigots who want to pretend they're just concerned.

 **@WowKentParson** Bring it.

 **@WowKentParson** I've been a Stanley-winning Captain four times now, and I was gay the whole time. I played, and #YouCanPlay too.

 **@WowKentParson** Don't believe in all that you've been told. The sky's the limit, you can reach your goal. No-one knows just what the future holds.

 **@WowKentParson** There ain't nothin you can't be, there's a whole world at your feet. https://youtu.be/50kP4S0peAs #SClub #AintNoParty

 **@WowKentParson** Okay, I have a meeting to finish. Catch you later, Parsnips.

 **@deadspin** @WowKentParson sorry, can you confirm that you tweeted that from IN THE CONTRACT MEETING?

 **@WowKentParson** @deadspin was I not supposed to do that

 **@deadspin** @WowKentParson l m a o 

_/ _/ _X_ \\_ \\_

(a few minutes earlier)

MESSAGE HISTORY: ZIMMS

 **YOU:** jack

 **YOU:** god i hope i got your schedule right

 **YOU:** REALLY need some advice right now

 **ZIMMS:** I'm here, what's up

 **ZIMMS:** Aren't you meant to be in a meeting right now

 **YOU:** i had to take a breather

 **YOU:** it's going bad jack

 **ZIMMS:** What's wrong?

 **YOU:** they won't let me out

 **ZIMMS:** Out of the team?

 **YOU:** out of the closet

 **ZIMMS:** Oh

 **ZIMMS:** I didn't know you were thinking about that

 **YOU:** i've always been thinking about that

 **ZIMMS:** You always said it'd be too much hassle, that it'd take over our careers

 **YOU:** doesn't mean i didn’t WANT it

 **YOU:** and like after this season?

 **YOU:** a gay draft pick, guy poulin over on your side

 **YOU:** hell bitty is an openly gay college champ

 **YOU:** i'm not gonna pretend it's rainbow equality time

 **YOU:** but it's not the FIRST any more. it's not new

 **YOU:** i mean you feel it too right? you must have been thinking about this

 **ZIMMS:** I’ve talked about it.

 **ZIMMS:** With Bitty and George. We think sometime next season.

 **YOU:** fuck really? that’s awesome

 **ZIMMS:** Thanks Kenny

 **ZIMMS:** But this is about you right now

 **ZIMMS:** So what happened

 **YOU:** they asked me what i wanted for my future

 **YOU:** and i told them what i wanted

 **YOU:** and every single fucker there looked at me like i just pissed myself in front of them

 **YOU:** pr guys spewed a crock of shit about "not feasible" and "current atmosphere" and "distract from the game"

 **YOU:** boils down to the organisation won't back me up

 **ZIMMS:** Are you serious

 **YOU:** ??? about what bit

 **ZIMMS:** They actually said it would distract from the game.

 **YOU:** yeah

 **ZIMMS:** Get out of the Aces.

 **ZIMMS:** Do whatever it takes

 **ZIMMS:** You deserve to be happy.

 **YOU:** "do whatever it takes"

 **ZIMMS:** You know when you have bad ideas and I tell you it's not worth the incredible mess you'll get into and we reason it down to what an actual grown adult would do

 **ZIMMS:** We're not doing that this time.

 **ZIMMS:** Whatever terrible idea you have in your head right now, as long as it is legal, you have my blessing

 **ZIMMS:** I have to go now. But promise me you'll give them hell.

 **YOU:** would i do anything else

 **YOU:** thank you zimms

 **ZIMMS:** Any time. Take care of yourself, and good luck.

_/ _/ _X_ \\_ \\_

MESSAGE HISTORY: ERIC

 **ERIC:** Kent Parson you are going to give me conniptions.

 **YOU:** you saw huh

 **ERIC:** I'm in two minds. One part of me wants to give you a taste of the wooden spoon and send you to bed with your tail between your legs for being so damned Parson  >:(

 **ERIC:** The other part wants to know how you're holding up.

 **YOU:** honestly? pretty fucking bad.

 **YOU:** this is the right thing to do but

 **YOU:** maybe not on the spur of the moment? and maybe not without a plan for afterwards

 **YOU:** team got me home safe, reporters hadn't started circling then

 **YOU:** swoops offered to stay with me, probably shoulda taken him up on that

 **ERIC:** YES YOU SHOULD

 **ERIC:** (I yell because I care)

 **YOU:** noted and appreciated

 **YOU:** what the fuck did i do bitty

 **YOU:** i quit my fucking job

 **YOU:** am i gonna play again

 **ERIC:** I can’t answer that for you. I’m sorry.

 **YOU:** shit.

 **ERIC:** Kent, honey. Don't think I'm not so proud of you. I really am.

 **ERIC:** This is a huge step, and you get to choose what you say and when you say it. Nobody can take that away from you.

 **ERIC:** I just wish you'd talked to someone about it first. That's what Jack and I are here for!

 **YOU:** uh. you haven't talked to jack?

 **ERIC:** ...No, not yet. Why?

 **YOU:** i talked to him before i went on twitter

 **ERIC:** .............what did he say

 **YOU** sent a file: **receipts.png**

 **ERIC** has added **ZIMMS** to this message

 **ERIC:** Jack.

 **ZIMMS:** I'm here what's up

 **YOU:** lmao shit

 **ERIC:** Did you talk to Kent earlier, honey?

 **ZIMMS:** About an hour ago, why?

 **ERIC:** And did you tell him to quit his team?

 **ERIC:** Did you tell him to "give them hell"?

 **ERIC:** Did you tell him to "do whatever it takes"?

 **YOU:** i'm so fucking sorry dude

 **ZIMMS:** Kenny what did you do.

 **YOU:** exactly what you told me to

 **ERIC:** LET’S SEE WHAT HE DID SHALL WE???

 **ERIC:** http://twitter.com/WowKentParson

 **ZIMMS:** Oh.

 **ERIC:** OH INDEED

 **ZIMMS:** To be honest I was expecting worse. He only said fuck once.

 **ZIMMS:** But also that was a lot faster than I was expecting.

 **ZIMMS:** You probably should have set up some kind of plan for what to do afterwards.

 **ERIC:** What great advice!

 **ERIC:** That you could have given him an hour ago!!

 **YOU:** guys. i'm fine. i'm not a little lost duckling.

 **ERIC:** You are doing, and I quote a reliable source, pretty fucking bad.

 **ERIC:** We are your friends and you're a mess right now, sweetie. You're allowed to need our help.

 **ZIMMS:** How long does it take you to get to the airport?

 **YOU:** why

 **ZIMMS:** Because there's a first class seat on a flight leaving for Providence in three hours and you should probably be in it.

 **ZIMMS:** Stopover in Detroit, it'll get here about midnight.

 **YOU:** omfg jack

 **ZIMMS:** And if you're not on the plane when it lands then I'll make sure the entire world knows the roast beef story.

 **YOU:** you fucking wouldn't

 **ZIMMS:** Try me.

 **YOU:** you don't even know how to use twitter.

 **ZIMMS:** I know how to use the SMH Group Text. They can figure it out.

 **ERIC:** I am incredibly attracted to you right now.

 **YOU:** oh my god

 **YOU:** look fine i'll come to fucking providence

 **YOU:** send me the flight deets

 **ZIMMS:** Done.

 **YOU:** fuckin pain in the ass fuckin friends

 **ERIC:** Stop whining about how lucky you are and go pack, Kent Parson.

 **ERIC:** (See you soon! <3)


	2. One Short Day

If air travel ever held any sense of magic for Kent, the NHL crushed that. Vegas is a hell of a town and he won’t hear a word said against it (though he’ll _say_ plenty of words against it) but there is no getting around the fact that its nearest neighbour is Buttfuck, Nowhere, which means just about every fucking away game involves being crammed into a plane with a shit-ton of sweaty, loud, obnoxious hockey players. The only way Kent’s survived the dozens of these flights is to be louder and more obnoxious than all the rest put together. (Sweaty he refuses to play at.)

Right now, though, he’s lying back in a comfy seat, eyes closed, listening to his #Chillax playlist with his hand loosely curled around his white wine spritzer. By all normal metrics, he’s in heaven at the moment.

But he might never smell anything bad on a plane again.

_/ _/ _X_ \\_ \\_

Kent looks around for the best-looking, worst-dressed person there and sees Jack by the baggage claim, frowning intently at his phone. He looks up as Kent approaches, and the frown gives way to that dopey half-smile. Jack pulls him in for a hug, and while the tight, familiar grip doesn’t wipe away his troubles, Kent is damn sure that it should.

They don’t say much on the drive back to Jack and Eric’s place - just the usual pleasantries, “How was the flight”, “Thanks for being here”, “Shut the fuck up Kenny, this is what friends are for”, etc. Jack has never been great with his words, and Kent learned to read his silences instead, one for every occasion, which include among others: “I can’t think of how to respond to that”, “I’ve decided that was the end of the conversation”, “I’m leaving room for you to explain the weird thing you just said”, “I’m furious with you and stewing on it”, and “I was listening but then I got an idea for a hockey play and am currently dead to the world”. This one is #15, “I sense you need time to process something and am here if you need to talk”, and it wraps around Kent like a thick blanket.

Kent doesn’t know he’s holding in a breath until they pull into Jack’s street, and the tension leaks out in a long sigh. Jack turns his head. “Kent?”

“There’s nobody out here,” he says, gesturing at the empty sidewalk.

Jack nods uncertainly. “It’s past midnight,” he explains patiently, “they’re asleep.”

“I mean - there were press in Vegas, outside my house - I thought they might have…” Kent trails off.

Jack rests a hand on his shoulder. “There’s nobody out here,” he echoes.

Kent doesn’t remember much after Jack brought him through the door. Small hands ushering him onto the couch. The smell of cocoa. And the warmth of a soft bed.

_/ _/ _X_ \\_ \\_

He hears the clank of pots moving, and voices from outside the room. He’s bolt upright before he remembers where he is.

And where he is… is absolutely nothing like his place back in Vegas. He stuck with the modern/minimalist look (because of course he did), and while sometimes it feels a little sparse, it doesn’t take much to make it look like a showroom. Of course, it doesn’t take much to make it look like a sty, either. But this bed has cream paisley sheets. The wallpaper has a soft floral pattern. What the fuck.

He gets up and walks over to a gorgeous walnut dresser, on top of which is a potted plant. Kent sniffs its white buds suspiciously. Jasmine. Logically, he knows that Jack and Eric can’t have stolen a room from his grandma’s house. Probably.

He slips on a pair of sweatpants and opens the door quietly. He can see through to the kitchen from here, where Eric is bustling about from fridge to cupboard to stove, talking himself through waffles. Jack is leaning against the counter in a tight shirt and boxers, arms crossed, looking at him like there’s nothing else in the world. Occasionally he cracks a joke and gets a thwack with a well-placed spoon. One time he catches Eric’s arm just in time and pulls him in for a long, lazy kiss.

Kent shouldn’t be watching this. He closes the door and turns back into the guest room, picking his phone out of his rumpled jeans. Thank god he turned on his call blocker before all this started, and the only numbers on his whitelist are Jack, Bitty, Swoops, his mom and his little sister… and the Aces management, who have apparently set up camp in his voicemail.

Kent puts one hand to his face and breathes deeply into it. He is not going to listen to his messages. He’s not ready for that, and that’s ok, right? And it’s not like he’ll get into extra shit for not listening to them. He is at the bottom of an ocean of shit and there are no more turds left in the cosmos to fall on him.

Someone knocks on the door. “Waffles are ready!”, calls Eric, and Kent’s stomach reminds him that he hasn’t eaten since yesterday lunchtime - no, white wine spritzers and cocoa do NOT count, it adds sternly.

Eric looks at him with pity in his eyes as he wanders into the lounge. “Looks like someone had a rough night,” he says.

Jack looks up from a plate heaped with waffles. “Nope,” he says, “that’s just how Parse looks in the morning.”

Kent flips Jack a half-hearted finger as Eric passes him the syrup - maple, not Jemima’s, thank god. “This is how a normal human being looks in the morning, and not fucking JogBot 2000. You know this guy,” he turns to Eric, “used to wake me up at 5am to go running with him? 5am. The fuck.”

Eric scoffs. “Try 4am. For checking practice. Because Jack Zimmermann-”

“-works harder than God,” Jack choruses, unrepentant of his crimes. “And for your information, I didn’t even go jogging this morning.”

Kent sits down and blinks. “Huh. No shit?”

“That’s right. We’re going after breakfast, instead,” and Kent and Eric both stiffen at that.

“We?”, Eric asks cautiously. Jack takes a mouthful of waffle and waves his fork at Kent, and he sighs in relief, clearly quite happy to leave Kent to hang. “Not that I mind jogging, but with Jack it’s - well, leg differences.”

Kent stabs his waffles. “You’re such an asshole, Zimms.” He _smirks_ at that, the fucker. “Why did I even come here again?”

“We blackmailed you.”

“Right, yeah.”

_/ _/ _X_ \\_ \\_

Jogging is exactly as bad as Kent remembers. It’s not that he’s out of shape - he’s a professional athlete, for fuck’s sake, he’s exercised basically every day of his life - but something about jogging hits up every sweat gland he has, and knocks on stitch’s door while it’s doing its rounds. And with Jack it’s just unbearable, because the asshole finds it so god damned fucking _effortless_. They’ve hit two miles and Kent is already soaking through his clothes, while Jack just has a shinier forehead than usual.

At this point, a portal to hell opens, and Satan himself comes screaming towards them. Kent screams back.

“ _Assez_!”, Jack yells at the goose. And it fucking stops. “Come on, Danton, you know better than that. We were doing so well.”, says Jack Zimmermann to a goose like this isn’t weird at all.

“Zimms. What the fuck.”

Jack looks up at him. “Yeah, this is Danton. I think he’s the alpha male around here - he’s definitely the biggest asshole, eh?”, turning his attention back to the giant fuck-off goose waddling around in front of him. “I think I have something for you - yeah, here we go,” he says, pulling trail mix out of his pocket. Danton snaps at it, and Jack points his finger firmly at the bird like it couldn’t bite it off. “Non! We don’t snap.” It ruffles its feathers and backs off a little. “Now, what do we say?” Danton honks. “ _Tres bien. Mange!_ ” He throws a handful of trail mix down, and the goose scrambles for it.

Kent has no idea what to say, so he repeats, “Zimms. _What_ the _fuck_.”

Jack shrugs. “He came up to me the first time I was here. Danton was a lot smaller then - I think he was probably adolescent? Once I showed him I was friendly, the others started to show up, too, but he’s still the most outgoing of them.” (Kent looks around warily, in case the “others” show up.) “I’ve been trying to teach him some manners. Not sure that’s down pat, but it’s getting there.”

“You’re training the geese.”

“I guess, sure.”

“Jack. Geese don’t work that way.” Danton looks up at him and honks indignantly. “How have you not been mauled.” Jack gives him an odd look, and Kent realises Jack might actually not know that geese are dangerous. Everyone knows geese can smell fear. But what the hell are they smelling on Jack?

“HEY!”, someone yells behind them, and Danton runs off squawking. Kent and Jack turn round to see a stout middle-aged woman storming up to them. “Do not _feed_ the damned geese, they are a menace, you could lose your damn mother of god you’re Jack Zimmermann, oh my stars would you be okay with a picture?” Jack nods, dazed, and she whips her phone out, rage forgotten in a surge of fandom. The photo is actually pretty kind on Jack - Kent supposes he’s getting a lot more practice these days.

The woman - “Maggie, please” - talks excitedly to Jack about his work as a role model for young athletes, and her work on a mental health organisation for local disadvantaged teenagers, and within ten minutes Jack’s invited himself over to help out next week. Kent tries to imagine how the Jack he used to know would handle this conversation. He probably wouldn’t.

Maggie starts to turn away, but freezes as she processes Kent’s face for the first time. “I thought I recognised you too. Kent Parson, right?” He nods hesitantly. “No offence, we just don’t get so much of the Aces out here.” She pauses, but continues, “I wanted to say… we work with a lot of queer kids, doing what we do. And I’ve seen pretty much every flavour of crap that gets heaped on them, by their parents, their peers, by the whole damned system. So, well… good on you for giving them the finger, yeah? It does a body good to see someone who can hit back.”

Kent tries to think of a way to say “thank you” that properly sums up just how much he means it, and what comes out is “Want another selfie?” Jack snorts, the bastard. Maggie is grateful, unlike _some people_ , and they get Kent’s good side (that’s a lie, all his sides are good). He asks if she’d mind waiting a couple of days before she posts it - the media still haven’t figured out where he’s got to, by the looks of things, and he’s eager to keep it that way until he can figure out his next move. She understands, of course.

Jack and Maggie confirm a last few details, and they part ways. The boys walk in silence for a little, before Jack asks, “Still mad I took you jogging?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jack Zimmermann.”

_/ _/ _X_ \\_ \\_

After they return home (and they take much-needed showers), Jack has to head out again for a coffee date with George, and Eric takes the opportunity to rope Kent into his afternoon baking, or as Eric puts it:

“If I can teach Jack to make a decent pie, I can teach a mule, so you don’t have an excuse!”

“Is that your way of calling me a jackass?”

“If the cap fits, Kent Parson!”

Kent is set to work rolling out his dough, and as he does, he says to Eric, “I know what’s happening here, Bits.”

“So do I, you’re butchering that poor thing. You have to turn it, remember?”

Kent rolls his eyes. “I mean you and Jack. The activities. Keeping me busy, right?”

Eric flushes, but doesn’t look up. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“You reckon this is enough that I won’t remember I fucked up my life?”

Eric sets his rolling pin aside, and looks Kent in the eye. “Well, if we’re doing this? You haven’t fucked up your life, darlin’. You made a choice about what matters to you. Now maybe you went about that a little ass-backward, but that’s a good choice you made, and I’m proud of you for it. And I know I’m not an NHL player like you boys, but from where I stand, worst comes to the worst you’re a multimillionaire celebrity playboy, so if that’s your definition of a fucked up life then _please_ tell me how to fuck up mine.”

Kent is silent for a few seconds, before he snorts in laughter. “Holy shit, Bitty. Gimme some warning before you murder me, why don’t you?”

“It wouldn’t make a difference, there’s no preparing for my slay.” Eric - Bitty - looks down at Kent’s handiwork and his eyes widen. “Speaking of murder, what in _Sam Hill_ did you do to that crust?”

“I just did what you said-” but Bitty is poking at it with increasing horror.

“It’s brittle, how did you even- it’s _blue_ on the inside, Kent. It smells of mint.” Bitty looks up. “What did you do to this?”

“Like this,” says Kent as he reaches for the remaining dough, but Bitty throws himself in front of it.

“I don’t know what you did, but I’ll be damned if you’re taking the rest of my pie. Scoot, you jinx!” He waves Kent off with his rolling pin. “Maybe we’ll start you off with something simpler.”

Kent ends up grating carrots for some mystery project of Bitty’s, and as he does he says, “I wasn’t really sure about you for a while, y’know.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean whether or not you actually liked me. I kind of got the impression that Zimms made his peace with me, so you gritted your teeth and went along with it.”

“Well then.” Bitty is quiet for a minute or so. “I can’t say you were always wrong about that.” They work in silence. “Want me to explain myself?”

“Well. Yeah, I guess.”

Bitty takes in a deep breath. “That night at Samwell. The kegster. You said some things to Jack that I don’t think any of us are gonna forget in a hurry. They weren’t just mean, Kent. They were cruel. And that’s all I cared to know about you for a good long time. I reckoned I’d seen you at your worst, and you came up damn short of my respect.

“But my freshman year? Jack was the worst thing in my life sometimes. He yelled at me in public, he belittled me. And when I won our game against Yale? He told me it was a lucky shot. You don’t have a monopoly on cruelty, Kent Parson.

“Jack grew past it. He apologised. He earned my trust. He fought for me, and he let me in. And I guess it took me a while to believe you could do the same for Jack. I didn’t want to trust you.”

“So do you trust me now?”, Kent asks.

Bitty scoffs. “I trust that you will exasperate me at every damn turn, Mr Parson, and that you’ll drive me to an early grave with your shenanigans, but… yes, honey, I trust you, and I care about you, and I want what’s best for you, and God help me I actually like you.” He looks over at Kent. “I do _not_ care for that smirk, though.”

“Too bad, I’m keeping it.”

_/ _/ _X_ \\_ \\_

Bitty’s cherry pie comes out wonderfully, but the real success story of the night is Kent’s carrot bread, which defies early predictions (“This looks like dog sick, Bits.” “Shush, it’ll hear you!”) and comes out surprisingly tasty. Neither lasts long, especially once Jack gets home.

The evening sees the three of them sprawled out on the couch, watching Step Up (“Channing Tatum night.” “Agreed.” “Who’s that?” “JACK”) while Bitty and Kent take undue pleasure in misleading Jack about the plot. Kent is halfway through convincing him that Tyler Gage is a long-lost Russian prince when his phone rings.

“Shit,” he says, looking at the caller. “Management.”

“You’ll have to talk to them sometime”, Jack says.

“But you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” counters Bitty. “What matters is we’re here for you, whatever you decide.”

Kent stares at his phone, still ringing. “Fuck it,” he says, answering it. “Kent here.”

“Kent, it’s Chad. Where the fuck have you been?”

“I’m staying with friends right now. In Providence.”

“Provi- no. Never mind. Look, how are you doing? Are you okay?”

“I’m alright. They’re looking after me.” Bitty squeezes his knee.

“That’s great, that’s really great. Now get home, we _need_ you here. The goddamn sky is falling.”

“What?”

“Press are circling, Pimento had to resign - look, they’ll give you whatever. Anything. You get what you want.”

Kent clutches his phone tight. “Are you shitting me?”

“I’m serious here. Just get back here and they will give you the fucking moon and half a dozen pride floats.”

Kent realises he’s already made up his mind. “Do you remember what I wanted, Chad?”

“Yeah? Support on LGBT issues, they’re behind that, they’re totally behind that-”

“I wanted support from the organisation for when I came out.”

“Like I said-”

“I’m already out, Chad. How are you gonna give me that?”

“Jesus, Parson, just list-”

Kent ends the call, and calmly takes the number off his whitelist. Then he puts his phone down on the table, takes a deep breath, and bursts into god damn fucking tears. He can’t remember the last time he could actually cry. He can’t remember a time when his life wasn’t centred around getting to the NHL, playing the best hockey he could.

Bitty switches the TV off, and pulls Kent into a warm hug. His hair smells like jasmine. Then from behind them, Jack moves in against Kent’s back, wrapping them both in his arms, and planting a soft kiss in Kent’s hair. Nothing is said for the rest of the night.


	3. Questions & Answers

The first time Kent wakes up that morning, it’s to an insistent beeping. He groans - he doesn’t even remember what he set his alarm for - but before he can register that it’s not his usual alarm tone, he feels someone stir behind him. An arm uncurls from round him and reaches over to mute the alarm, and Jack starts to extract himself from - from whatever this is. Kent hears himself whine sadly, and Jack huffs a quiet laugh as he nuzzles into the back of Kent’s neck. “Go back to sleep, Kenny,” he whispers, before he pulls away gently. For a few moments it’s like they’re a decade back, in their billet in Rimouski, and Kent holds on to that nostalgia as he curls back in and rests his head in the soft golden hair of-

-of Eric Bittle. Okay, nostalgia over, this is very definitely new.

Bitty’s pressed up tight against him, arms slipped around his waist, head resting on his chest. He’s been so still and quiet Kent hadn’t properly noticed he was there until now, but he shifts as Jack opens the door to leave, and when the door shuts he lifts his head up groggily.

“Jack?”, he mumbles, before blinking his eyes and frowning. “Kent,” he says hesitantly, as if trying to understand the answer to a very complicated question.

Kent feels like he’s supposed to reply to that. “Yeah. Kent.” Good one, Kent. “If this is- if it’s weird I can-”, he starts, pulling out of the cuddle a little.

But Bitty tightens his grip and buries his head back in Kent’s chest, letting out a little _hmph_. “No pie for you, Kent Parson,” he mutters, and this right here is the point, looking back on it, that Kent will identify as Too Late, when his chest fills with warmth and every touch of Bitty’s skin against his feels like a preview for heaven. But here and now, he just places a kiss on Bitty’s forehead, and leans his head into Bitty’s hair.

_/ _/ _X_ \\_ \\_

The front door closes, and Kent starts awake, which makes Bitty jump up in turn, letting out a distressed “muh?”. Chuckles come from the doorway, and they turn in unison to see Jack grinning at them.

“Sorry,” he explains to a pair of scowls, “you just looked exactly like surprised meerkats.” Two cushions launch themselves at him, and one knocks his hat off.

After Bitty wakes himself up, he heads into the kitchen to start on breakfast, while Jack goes to rinse off his jogging residue. Kent is left to sprawl out, claiming the entire length of the couch as his own, and finds himself in the worst company he can imagine: his thoughts.

Right now, his thoughts are revolving a fair bit around Bitty, and how great his ass looks when he bends down for something, or how cute it is when he’s reaching for a jar on a high shelf and has to get on tiptoes, or how surprisingly strong his grip was around his waist, and while Kent has always known that Bitty is objectively cute he’s never really got invested in the thought, what with him being A) Jack’s boyfriend and B) Jack’s boyfriend who possibly hated him for a significant chunk of their acquaintanceship. But some manner of floodgate has been opened and Kent is very aware of this beautiful man dancing around the kitchen in front of him, and of the fact that they spent most of last night wrapped up tight in each other’s arms.

Complicating this are two problems: A) Bitty is still Jack’s boyfriend and B) Jack fucking nuzzled the back of his neck, what the fuck; but problem B would probably take over if examined and problem A is blunt enough that it doesn’t really bear further analysis, so Kent pushes the worries into the future and contents himself with culinary butt-ogling. Thank god for those short shorts.

Jack comes out of the bathroom just as Bitty finishes up with the french toast, and Kent reluctantly crawls out of his sprawl to join them. They sit down round the counter island to eat, and Kent can feel the size of the conversation not being had.

“So,” he says, five minutes into silence and intense breakfast-appreciation, and stops, because he has no idea how you continue this sort of sentence. _Last night you sure did both cuddle me_ or _So I’m pretty sure I have a giant crush on both of you right now_ or _Hey Jack back me up here Bitty has the best ass you’ve ever seen on a guy his size am I right?_ all seem likely to get him nowhere and/or punched.

“Last night,” he tries again, “was that…” Kent reaches for the right word. “Platonic?”

Bitty and Jack turn to look at each other, and Kent knows he should have just kept his damn mouth shut because their faces are heartbreaking right now and what the fuck did he expect? They were together and they were _happy_ and now he may have just screwed it all up because what, he slept well last night? They comforted him? Jesus shitting christ Kent is an asshole-

He stands up and the chair falls over behind him and whatever horrible moment Bitty and Jack were going through snaps and Kent says something like “I’m gonna go” that probably doesn’t come out as anything near comprehensible but they will probably get the hint when he goes out the door and Jack is looking worried and rising out of his chair but Kent just pushes past him and-

-next thing he knows he’s outside the building. On the ground. There’s someone standing over him, saying something.

“I’m really sorry,” says the figure, “this is a uh. A bad habit of mine, trying to get out of it but I just seem to keep cannonballing into people. You okay there, Parson?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Kent picks himself off the ground, dusting himself off, and takes a good look at his assailant. “...George, right? Jack’s GM?”

“Yes, but actually I’m not here for Jack right now.” She looks around, and says, “This isn’t really an outside conversation, would we be ok to head inside-”

“Not back in,” Kent says quicker than he realises, but George just nods briskly.

“Coffee, then?”

Yeah. Coffee sounds manageable right now.

_/ _/ _X_ \\_ \\_

The Starbucks isn’t exactly teeming right now, but George still picks one of the more secluded booths, and Kent is pretty grateful for that.

“So I should note I’m not here in any official capacity,” she begins, “and anything I say or we agree to is strictly off the record until I give an explicit all-clear. Standard stuff, nothing personal, I just wanna get that clear. Alright?” Kent nods, unsure where this is going.

“So yesterday Jack and I had a talk about you. Well, us and half of North America, I guess. He filled me in on what actually happened-”

“What do you mean, ‘what actually happened’?”, interrupts Kent hotly.

“I just mean that you went off the grid and Aces PR have been burying their head in the sand, not even releasing a statement about it, so all anyone’s had to go by are your initial tweets. Which, while brave and concise, don’t really make it clear what led up to the situation.

“So, with the additional context, I had a chat with the ownership. And as such, but remembering that this is off the record and unofficial until things are given the green-light to go official - but how would you like a spot on the Falconers?”

Kent chokes on his frappuccino. “Are you fucking serious-”

George smiles as she rolls her eyes. “Very serious. First,” she begins marking points with her fingers, “you’re one of the best in the league right now if not _the_ best and we’d be idiots not to snatch you up when we can. Second, you have a record of chemistry with our star player, so we don’t need to worry about you not fitting in. Third, Marty and Thirdy are retiring, so we not only have room for you in the salary cap but we have a sudden lack of experience. Fourth, and this one’s just for me, but I have a keen personal interest in pushing the Gay Agenda for the Falconers.”

Kent snorts at the last one, but says nothing else for a while, thoughts failing to race through his head. Finally he says, “They offered to let me come back last night. I told them where to shove it. I… thought that was it. That I’d ended my career.” George is looking at him oddly. “What?”

Georgia pulls out her phone, scoots over to him, and they spend twenty minutes going through Twitter - including the good dozen and a half official team accounts to publicly support him, Aces players shutting down assholes, and the veritable storm of public thanks in the #PlayingWithParson tag.

“So y’know,” she says as she puts her phone away, “maybe sometimes you _can_ read the comments.” Kent tries to decide if he should blame his watery eyes on allergies, but just takes her hand. She squeezes back, and gives him an understanding smile.

They do small talk for a few more minutes, and Kent promises to give the Falconers offer thought - “Don’t tell me yes or no now, actually think it over when you’re not emotionally compromised by the world and get back to me then” “God, fine, _mom_ ” - before they get up to leave.

“Oh, Kent?”, Georgia says, as if something just occurred to her.

“Yeah?”

“I know why you did the twitter rampage, and I understand the context and support the principles behind your actions. But I will say that if you ever, _ever_ do anything like that while you’re on my team, they will not get your blood out of the ice.”

Kent promises to keep that in mind too.

_/ _/ _X_ \\_ \\_

Kent knocks on the door of Jack and Bitty’s place, having realised he’d run out of the apartment without an actual key to get back in, and Jack lets him in. “Have a… sit down”, he says, the Zimmermann charm shining through as ever.

But over on the couch, Bitty is probably just as awkward, playing nervously with his fingers. Jack sits, and Kent follows suit, apprehensive.

Bitty draws in a breath, and says, “Jack and I talked while you were out. About what you were saying at breakfast.” Kent opens his mouth. “You let me finish, Kent Parson.” Kent closes his mouth, and Jack smirks for just a second. “And we decided that. Well, we have pretty much the same stance on the matter. Which is to say, we’ll follow your lead. We don’t want you to feel pressured into anything, but we are both-”

Jack closes his eyes and asks, “Do you want to date us?”

“Oh my god Jack I was getting there!”

“You were killing me.”

“Uh.”, is Kent Parson’s reply.

“I was doing fine!”

“You had index cards again.”

“Just to organise my mind, I wasn’t _reading_ off of them-”

“I’m a Falconer,” is Kent Parson’s second, more considered reply.

Jack and Bitty turn mid-bicker to face Kent.

“You’re a what now,” says Bitty.

“George offered me a place at brunch. So I’m in Providence for the long haul.” There’s a pause, and Kent gets out of his seat, sitting down between Jack and Bitty. “So I don’t know how this works but… I want this. I want it to work. Let’s do this.”

Jack pulls Kent in close towards him, as Bitty curls up to rest his head in their laps. Kent doesn’t know how long they sit like this. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. But he thinks he knows what he needs to do next.

“Can one of you pass me my phone? I should check Twitter.”

_/ _/ _X_ \\_ \\_

**@WowKentParson** I live

**@WowKentParson** These last few days have been weird as shit all round and I am so unbelievably grateful you guys had my back for me #PlayingWithParson

**@WowKentParson** I've seen all the support thrown my way and I've never felt less ironic when tagging something #Blessed

**@WowKentParson** I've been spending the last few days in Providence with some close friends, including noted friend/nemesis/accomplice @TheBetterJayZ

**@WowKentParson** Throwing out an embarrassingly sincere thanks to @TheBetterJayZ and friends for having me here and for everything they've done for me

**@WowKentParson** Providence is such a beautiful town. Wouldn’t mind staying here.


End file.
